


What's Mine is Yours (What's Yours is Mine)

by Michaelisunderrated



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Maggot Husbands (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Michael (Good Omens), Ze/Zir Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:34:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelisunderrated/pseuds/Michaelisunderrated
Summary: When Crowley asked Aziraphale to run away to the stars with him he said yes.He was supposed to say no. There was supposed to be a fight and a burning bookshop and a puddle of holy water on the floor. They were supposed to help stop the apocalypse together. But Aziraphale said yes, and the sides had their precious War, and heaven won.Now Aziraphale's not the only one with a demon to protect.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur/Michael (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	What's Mine is Yours (What's Yours is Mine)

Heaven won.

Michael had never doubted that they would. To doubt was terribly unangelic, and Michael was nothing if not an angel. They were Her best angel. It was not vanity which told them this, it was history. Michael had been preparing for millennia, influencing human battles and turning the tides of wars. They’d seen the rise and fall of empires. In most cases, they had ensured them.

Despite their best efforts, the battle was close. Terribly close.

And then the rain started.

It was slow at first. A few grey clouds rolled in. The Lord of the Flies squinted at the sky from behind their perch on the hill. The war Beelzebub and Michael fought was a battle of wits. Their swords had never clashed.

Michael was, at their core, a general. They were Her general. They respected the opposition, for ze was accomplished in zir craft. But Michael’s contempt overpowered any respect they had for the demon. There was nothing they enjoyed more than the look on zir face when ze realized what Michael had planned. Zir desperation was exquisite.

Ze locked eyes with Michael and raised zir blade. In a single, swift motion, ze separated zir self from zir corporation. Ze left behind an empty carcass, pooling red at the throat, and was gone by the time the first droplet hit the earth.

Five meters from zir empty corporation, a demon discovered exactly what it meant to die the Final Death. The demon dissolved, body, mind, and spirit, until nothing remained but a pile of earthen garments.

Holy rain.

How cruel.

How _innovative_. Michael was proud to say it was their finest work. It was a shame the Council of Archangels would never fully appreciate it. They had a tendency to get squeamish when it came to means of utter Destruction. Which was why Michael hadn’t told them.

That was the genius of Michael’s plan. No one would ever know it was them. Both angel and demon alike would assume She had intervened on heaven’s behalf. It was a respectable conclusion to come to. Angels of course, would never dare question it. Demons might, but then, they wouldn’t be around much longer.

The rain went from a drizzle to a downpour. It didn’t take long for the others to realize that the demons around them were burning away. Michael closed their eyes as the musical tones reached their ears. There was no hymnal more dedicated than the shrieks of the damned.

“What a lovely view.”

Gabriel landed beside Michael, tucking his wings behind his shoulders. His hair dripped onto his shoulders like a wet mop and his clothes hung heavy with water.

“I’ve never made a storm this big before. It shouldn’t even be possible. Whatever you gave me-”

“Gabriel,” Michael smiled. “Be a doll and shut your mouth.”

Six minutes. That was all it took. Six minutes against 6,000 years of opposition. It was practically poetry.

War struck the blade of her flaming sword into the wet earth. She raised her fist high and screamed of heaven’s victory. Then she dissolved into dust. Famine straightened his collar. His stomach sank into the outline of his ribs and his ribs thinned until he fizzled out of existence. Pollution grinned with black between their teeth. They melted into a black ooze.

The horsemen were no more.

All except Death. Not even the Almighty Herself could make it disappear.

Gabriel lowered his head in silent celebration. He rocked on his heels. A low and guttural note sounded out from among the hoards of heavenly soldiers. Gabriel’s eyes glistened, and he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He hummed, his voice joining the hoards. There were no words to the music, but it was the message of many. It was a song of ascendance, solemn and otherworldly.

Michael was silent.

Gabriel clapped a hand on Michael’s shoulder and squeezed. His eyes were full of hope. Michael stiffened, resisting the urge to shake him off of them. They smiled without teeth.

Gabriel continued onwards, carrying the message with his booming voice. The crowds parted for him as he stepped over the remnants of the opposition. The path stretched for miles ahead, millions of angels parting for their beloved archangel. They were overcome with joy. In their minds, the Almighty had finally spoken, and She had declared them worthy.

…

When Crowley asked Aziraphale to run away to the stars with him he said yes.

He was supposed to say no. There was supposed to be a fight and a burning bookshop and a puddle of holy water on the floor. They were _supposed_ to help stop the apocalypse together.

But Aziraphale said yes, and the sides had their precious War, and heaven won.

The balance was off. The only demons left were deserters, desperate fiends who’d left the battlefield before the war ever began. Beelzebub was the only exception to that rule. Of all the demons who marched on that oh so fateful morning, ze was the only one still standing.

Yes, Crowley was a deserter. For as much as he adored his angel, it didn’t belie the fact that he was not there that fateful morning. It did not erase the betrayal of his kind, as he left them to Michael’s passionless slaughter. It was an efficient and economical genocide, the likes of which would move history’s most vainglorious villians to worship.

To be fair, he was having a _fantastic_ time with Aziraphale. (And copious amounts of alcohol of course.)

The pair was less than drunk, which demons measured by how little you remembered in the morning, but half an hour past tipsy. Which was to say, that were drunk enough to say what was on their minds, and sober enough to be coherent.

“So why’d you-” Crowley burped. “Why’d you agree? You never agree to my ideas.”

Aziraphale slid off the hood of the bentley, and moseyed his way over to the drinks. 50 years ago, Crowley had offered to drive the angel anywhere he liked. Apparently that included Alpha Centauri.

He refilled his glass the human way, it wouldn’t do to alert heaven to their location so soon. “My dear boy, I _always_ agree to your ideas.”

Crowley scoffed, leaning back against the windshield. “No you don- oh!”

Aziraphale plopped his head onto Crowley’s lap, who turned as red as it was possible to be. The angel raised his glass to his lips and his eyebrows in the same motion, daring Crowley to question his presence. Crowley’s own drink suddenly seemed incredibly interesting.

Aziraphale reached one hand up, brushing his knuckles against Crowley’s cheekbones. “I wanted to, I suppose.”

“Oh.” Crowley frowned. “But _why_ though.”

Aziraphale laughed. It was sharp and clear and Crowley’s heart had never beat faster. (Aside from the fact that his heart always beat this fast around Aziraphale, and had since Eden.) Despite himself, Crowley found himself leaning closer. He waited for Aziraphale to pull away and for the warmth of his overwhelming presence to leave him. It never came.

Instead Aziraphale scooted closer, nearly falling off the hood of the Bentley in the process. He grabbed onto Crowley’s shoulders to steady himself.

“You wiley serpent,” Aziraphale’s eyes were soft as his thumb traced over Crowley’s bottom lip. “Always making me question things.”

He tried to lift his other hand to Crowley’s face, frowning when he realized he was holding a drink. Aziraphale glared at the drink for its presumptuousness. Screwing his eyes shut, he downed the drink in one then tossed the glass aside. It shattered.

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the ears and kissed him.

…

Michael resisted the urge to roll their eyes. Their bottom lip twitched.

They turned. Twenty strides forward and three to the left. They passed unnoticed. It wasn’t hard. Half the angels had their eyes closed in prayer.

Michael loomed over the figure on the ground. Their chest filled with a mixture of relief and self satisfaction. The relief was an unnecessary and unwelcome emotion. Michael’s plans were thorough and meticulous.

Hastur’s body was slack, his eyes shut. They hadn’t been a minute ago and Michael was far from stupid. They stepped on him, the heel of their boot pressing into his chest. Hastur’s lips twitched in the beginning of a wince.

“Pretending to be dead?” Michael’s voice was barely a whisper, but it was heavy with dangerous amusement. “How quaint.”

Hastur’s eyes moved beneath his eyelids. His lips parted quietly. “You can’t kill me.”

“And why’s that?”

“The Almighty doesn’t want me dead.” Hastur’s face turned into a scowl, as though the very idea disgusted him. “It rained holy water and I didn’t die.”

Michael laughed. “What makes you think it was the Almighty?”

Michael was asking about Hastur’s survival, but he assumed they were asking about the holy rain. “C’mon wank-wings, you’re not stupid. Do I need to start listing genocides or should you?”

Oh that was precious. The demon thought Michael was _concerned_ . He thought they were _doubtful_. While it was true that the Almighty had a flippant disregard for life and a tendency to purge her creations, She was not behind this. Unless, of course, She was. That would mean that Michael’s actions were not their own and they were rather proud of their plan so it would be quite the let down.

Michael stared down at Hastur. There was a poison in their gaze, a barely concealed threat.

Hastur swallowed. “You.”

“ _Me_.”

Hastur’s fingers twitched, halfway to forming a fist. He held himself still. Right now, the only protection he had was that bo one had noticed him yet. No one except for Michael.

“Ligur.” Hastur demanded.

Michael’s lips curled in amusement. They made no move to hide their smile. “In heaven.”

“ _Why_.”

“Because he’s smarter than you,” Michael’s features eased into a grin. “I told him hell would lose and he believed me.”

“I survived holy water,” Hastur warned. He didn’t know what Michael wanted but they clearly wanted _something_. He didn’t want to stick around and find out.

“No you didn’t.”

They knelt close to the earth, their robes becoming muddied. They reached out to a line on Hastur’s cheek where an angel’s blade had pierced the flesh. Michael brushed the pad of their thumb over the blackened blood, smearing it over his skin.

Their fingers traced, down his chin and to his collarbone. They pressed the ghost of a kiss on his lips. Hastur sucked in a breath. His eyes were blown out wide, dark from crease to corner. Michael tugged on the chain of his necklace, pulling it out from beneath Hastur’s shirt. There was a small silver band strung up on it, lined with mossy green.

Hastur’s eyes narrowed. “That’s my wedding ring.”

“I blessed it,” Michael toyed with the chain. “I can unbless it anytime. It’s the only thing protecting you from holy water and you’re _drenched_ with it, darling.”

Hastur’s voice died in his throat. The question was silent on his lips.

“Ligur asked me to.” Michael brushed a hand through Hastur’s hair. They pulled away jumping to their feet. The song had ended.

Michael held out their hand and Hastur took it. With a flash, the two disappeared from the battlefield.

…

To say that Holy Rain was merely a brilliant idea would discredit the effort which went into it.

It was a millennia of study, trial and error, espionage, and subterfuge. Every possibility was explored, every battleplan tried and true, and the subterfuge, well the subterfuge was gorgeous. They’d accounted for every detail, or so they thought. Michael had forgotten one simple fact.

Demons are cowards.

Nestled in the humid caverns of hell was over 2000 demons. They were deserters, demons who ran and hid when it came time to fight. Compared with the millions who donned their armor and corporations and marched eagerly towards battle, they were a motley crew. They certainly weren’t an army. If they had deserted once it was foolish to assume a single one of them would be willing to plan a counterattack. So ze did not entertain the notion.

Beelzebub threw down zir war medals and watched them melt into the Lake of Fire. Ze was a general no longer.

As long as there were demons left to rule, someone would have to rule them. Beelzebub was a leader, by title and by nature. As far as ze could tell, ze was the highest ranking demon left alive.

Ze steeled their breath, striding towards the chromium throne.

“My lord.” A voice broke zir stride.

“Dagon.”

Ze paused, peering up at the Lord of the Files. Of all the deserters, ze hadn’t expected her to be among them.

“What of the battle?”

“It’s over.” Zir voice was clipped.

Dagon blinked sideways. She did not understand. Of course she didn’t. It had only been six minutes after all.

“They’re dead,” Beelzebub pushed past her. “All of them.”

The throne loomed above them. It was 40 feet tall, and the length of Satan’s stride. In theory, its size adjusted to its owner, though that theory had never been tried. So long as Satan was alive, anyone who touched the throne discorporated on impact.

They reached out, fingertips brushing the cool metal. The throne shrank.

Six minutes ago, the throne belonged to Lucifer. Six minutes ago, ze was a prince and a general. Six minutes ago, there were millions of demons and the balance was equal.

Now Beelzebub was King.


End file.
